


Five Senses of Eros

by voids



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games)
Genre: Dirty Talk, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, POV First Person, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 22:30:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8685799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voids/pseuds/voids
Summary: The Nameless King keeps a diary with which he allows himself to vividly remember something he cannot retrieve.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Back again with Ornstein/Nameless stuff, this time written from Nameless' First Person POV. Unlike my other wip, this one is kinda explicit. So proceed with caution.

The sight  _ he _ made was one of utter condescension. The respect and admiration ever present on his spotless golden armor put the poorest of churchmouses in an ignominious situation; the everlasting snarl of his leonine helm might have provoked to casual eyes an assortment of conflicted feelings such as imminent danger, estupor, trouble, or plain and simple love for the great. Though if I were to describe this love, I’d call it a blind one; the kind some brainless mortal would sustain for their unattainable Idol. A Dragon Slayer was, by nature, a figure of reliance and faith, the name titles of whom are supposed to speak more than what lies under the surface. I grasp the bridge of my nose as I think of our beloved knights, or as humans would have seen them as: two-legged armored creatures born to pierce their weapons through their fragile little hearts, or, with use of better wording, ruthless and heartless beings, whose only duty was to guard the land like a trained wolfhound.

I get angered by all such nonsense, despite what they said about us: that Gods aren’t supposed to have feelings; a lie, made only to induct fear to the weakest, just as the belief that the face hidden inside a Dragon Slayer helmet should never be publicly revealed, for it would break the spell this human little world had built.

Sometimes, my stubborn façade wished this world had changed, in some manner. All this bullshit of a culture threatened to drive me out of my mind. And had I debated such matters to my Lord Father at an early stage would have been a compromising risk, so I would had rather not do it.

But I knew  _ him _ , and ever since, I wish more people could have seen through.

I’ve never been the type of man who likes to share their goods out of generosity. With Ornstein, however, I became a little sensitive.

My memories remain intact since the day the huge door accessing the halls cracked open, allowing an armored warrior walking by, carrying a lightning spear in his right hand and dragging a dragon’s head across the floor with his left one. He looked strong and confident, and the mangled thing left a trail of crimson blood with every step of his feet clattering on the marble tiles. He dropped the severed head onto the ground, and as he knelt before me and my "Family", he spoke with a devotion so charming my own knees could have bent on their own.

“I wish to serve thee, my Lords. If thou dost accept my request.”

Was he as mind-bending as he looked? My question lingered perhaps for a bit too long, until some time later I was allowed to privately meet the man hiding beneath the unyielding golden armor. The first time I saw his eyes,  — green like leaves in summer, soft like grass in spring — , my heart jumped inside my rib cage. His irises somehow managed to pierce through my frame of mind and leave their own mark into my soul. They radiated like the star high above, small wrinkles appearing under his lids when his lips curled all the way up. He smiled like nobody did. When we went out hunting, his face lit up like a child who was about to get a treat.

His hair fell down like a curtain of red, and my hands tingled inside my gauntlets. The relentless urge to entangle my fingers in that lovely mess, to  _ touch _ , felt as vivid as the first time my mouth dried off when I saw his whole muscles tense up after catching him off guard in the river, believing he was alone in the tranquility of the place. But if I had known I would discover Ornstein’s fetichism for voyeurism only minutes later, perhaps I would have brought myself more  _ useful _ equipment to soothe such an aggravation.

As I write this down, I can feel my cheeks heating up at the memory of pale skin pliant under my gaze. His neck arched in a blatant invitation, yet I struggled to hold onto my willpower for dear life to restrain my aching mouth, my trembling fingers, from closing around fresh skin and  _ bite _ . Despite my deafening desires, I kept my distances; despite the fact that my eyes still followed the path of light hair down his pubis and that my underclothes felt a bit  _ too _ tight for my taste, I didn’t cross the line.

I learned to carry on with the knowledge that both of us were well aware of the effects our proximity caused to one another, which, for starters, it should not have been a huge hassle.

But one night, someone knocked at my door. I grunted as I got up from the bed, expecting to find my Lord Father, or perhaps my dear younger Sister, requesting my services, but not  _ him _ , and definitely not like  _ that.  _ Ornstein stood in front of me, wearing only a white tunic that did nothing to conceal his arousal under the thin layer of cloth, which fell disgracefully onto the ground the second he stepped into my chambers; I could feel his body radiating off warmth, and there was a veil clouding his eyes; and I knew, I  _ understood _ , what this unbelievable little man was looking for. And I, the foolish firstborn son of God, felt too weak to relinquish such a petition.

However, I could have never, ever, allowed myself to go  _ that _ far. So by the time being, I would delight myself with staring; I would undress him with my gaze and dispose him of his prodigious titles. There would be no boundaries within us, as long as I didn’t proceed towards forbidden territory.

I leaned my head close to his ear, and I whispered, my voice a rustle of breath against his lobe, and this time, it was his hand twitching to grab on to something.

“Touchest thyself for me. Please?”

His primal reaction was to release a sound that reminded me of a feline’s purr, and his eyes fell shut. I averted mine for a brief interval to leap towards the bed, lay on top of it and  _ watch _ . Just watch.

It’s no surprise my quill is quivering as I struggle to put this madness into words, for I can feel the weight of the past centuries above my shoulders. Despite the fact that hadn't it been for the company of my dragons I would be living well alone in this deserted mountain, I still feel the remnants of the wound he left in my chest after admitting as coldly as an ice bucket that he would never ever want to be with me. And I couldn’t blame him. My fault was all mine, for I had been the one who betrayed, not the way around. I deserved such punishment.

I pause to catch my breath, my vision blurring with moisture.

_ Odreth _ is now nibbling my boots, distracting me from my thoughts just for a brief instant. He’s still young and his bites are nothing but an incitement to play. He looks up at me and attempts to leap onto my lap, but I put him back down onto the ground since my eyes are full with tears, and I don’t wish to muster too many questions in my dear friends. Dragons are curious creatures, loyal to death, but deadly nonetheless.

However, had Ornstein come to find me,  _ Odreth _ would effortlessly die by his spear. And then I’d have no choice but to kill my former Knight in return.

I weep silently as I force myself to finish what I have started. The blood I’m using as ink is stained with the tears that my left hand cannot dry, and yet, my cock is throbbing beneath my trousers. I am constantly reminded of how much I miss what I no longer have.

I picture the distinctive way Ornstein’s abdominal muscles convulsed with every drag of fingers across his foreskin. The room felt hot and the air was clogged with pheromones. I swallowed down a breath as I unbuttoned the seam of my trousers to release the aching pressure that had been long yearning for my attention. What little rationality I had left within me served as warning of the door not even being properly locked, and the prospect of being caught in the peak of the moment did nothing to slake my appetite and Ornstein’s interest in getting himself off.

When his breath became erratic, I suspected he was close. A sob was muffled as his fist closed tightly around his shaft, and then his whole body went still. His teeth digged painfully into his lower lip, followed by a strangled sound coming from inside his throat.

After he was done, it was my turn to come apart. While we both managed to catch our breath, I figured that the probability of regretting what we had just done was high in some degree, but by the time being, I felt satiated. So I smiled.

We didn't touch each other, but he loved me still. And that was all that mattered.

He collected himself and dressed up hurriedly while I laid on the bed, staring at the roof, my thoughts lost somewhere far away from Anor Londo. I heard him approaching towards me, but I had closed my eyes, too debilitated to even move. 

"My Lord." His voice was thick and rough, and the rumbling sound of it turned my joints into mud. 

"Mh?"

"I have blood on my lips. Care to wipe it off?"

I narrowed my eyes and I watched him stand from my position, realising how tall he actually was when our height difference was lessened. A trail of crimson that matched his hair color dripped from his chin and onto my crumpled sheets. His face had softened and he looked as _humanly_ vulnerable as he could get to be. The armored lion knight that I had learned to admire and respect was a mere fiction then when he wasn't wearing his golden cuirass in front of me, and damn it all, I wished more people could have _known_. Was I lucky to be the only one to know? Maybe I was. Or perhaps I was just too blissed out by love.

"I want to kiss thy mouth." I confessed with disdain. 

He grinned widely. Then tossed something onto my chest and left the room, the bastard.

...

When the sunlight seeped through my windows early in the morning, it was only then when I realized Ornstein had tossed what seemed to be a notebook wrapped in goatskin.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not English speaker myself, so trying my hand at using archaic English could not be the wisest choice I've made, but I had to give it a try anyways. Feel free to point out errors if you spot any.


End file.
